Buffalo Bill and his friends noticed that in the wrestling a tall and truculent-looking warrior named Leaping Dog overcame the other braves with ease. He threw one of them after another with scarcely an effort, until at last he could find none willing to meet him.
Then he turned to the white men, insolent with his triumph, and cried:
“Will you wrestle with me, palefaces? I will wager my tomahawk that there is none of you who can throw me.”
“Remember that the white chiefs are guests in our lodges, Leaping Dog,” said Red Cloud, in a reproving voice. “It is not seemly to challenge them thus.”
“I mean them no harm,” declared the truculent brave. “All men say that Long Hair is a great warrior and a mighty champion among his own people. If that is so, he should not fear me.”
“Fear you!” yelled Nick Wharton angrily. “It ’u’d take a sight more than you, ye durned red devil, ter scare the bravest man thet ever straddled a hoss on the plains.”
In his indignation the old trapper spoke in English, which the Indian did not understand. But he knew from the tone that what was said was not particularly complimentary to himself, so he turned his piercing black eyes on Wharton with an angry glance.
“If Long Hair will not wrestle with me, perhaps the old chief who roars like a bull will do so,” he said sarcastically.
“Sure, thar’s nothin’ better I’d like than ter break yer neck, ye durned savage,” retorted old Nick.